


Proximity of Resonant Frequencies

by allochthonous (cynicalshoes)



Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:26:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynicalshoes/pseuds/allochthonous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor has a nightmare. Lester does his best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proximity of Resonant Frequencies

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely implies that the ending of 3x03 did, in fact, happen.

Connor was moaning.

Lester could hear him from the master bedroom; it was a thin, pained noise that seemed hardly enough to wake him, if indeed it had. The rest of the flat was silent but for the occasional snuffle of sleeping diictodons, curled up in their bed in the living room. Lester had long ago grown accustomed to those small noises. Outside the night was as peaceful as they came in London.

Lester considered ignoring the sound and going back to sleep. Instantly he felt a sweeping tide of shame. The stiff upper lip stoicism of previous generations, and perhaps his, hardly seemed appropriate in the current situation.

Sighing, Lester threw back the warm bedclothes and located his slippers and dressing-gown. He felt his way down the hall in the dark until he came to the guest room. The door was ajar.

Lester peered through the gap cautiously; looking in on houseguests in the middle of the night was not actually a habit of his. Deep in the dark, Connor was trapped in a restless sleep, tangled in the duvet. He was still moaning occasionally, and murmuring incoherently. Lester paused with his hand already on the door. His initial concern for Connor had suddenly been confronted with thoughts of the other man's privacy. Would Connor want Lester to know he'd had a nightmare? What would he expect Lester to do? What _could_ Lester do?

Another feeble moan broke Connor's lips. Lester's resolve steeled, even though he had no idea whatsoever of what he was doing.

He slipped into the room quietly and stood at the bedside. Connor's distress had increased, and he nearly thrashed in his sleep, crying _no, no, no_ under his breath. It was not something Lester could bear to listen to any longer.

He shook Connor's shoulder gently to wake him. The light touch was all it took and Connor's eyes flew open.

"Cutter?"

Then the image resolved, the apparition faded and Connor's eyes adjusted to the dark.

"Connor, it's me," Lester said somewhat needlessly, trying to ignore the desperate quality of Connor's plea. He had rescued Connor from his nightmare with no thought as to what would be required of him next, not to mention the delicate minefield of emotions such a nightmare might imply.

"Right. Sorry," Connor apologized thickly, immediately edging onto his side so he was slightly facing away from Lester.

"Quite all right," Lester mumbled, dropping his arm back to his side with unfamiliar timidness. He felt the first self-conscious tinge of regret, having woken Connor from his dream and then simply adding to his embarrassment.

Connor had clambered into a sitting position now, with his back to Lester completely, fumbling with the twisted bedclothes in an effort to busy his hands.

Lester took a hesitant step back, his instinct to be a good samaritan (and not to mention a good flatmate) wavering in the indication that he was obviously not wanted.

He watched Connor stretch out the duvet clumsily, not commenting when he used a corner to hastily wipe at his eyes and cheeks. Lester had the distinct sense that Connor expected him to back out of the room and retreat like nothing had happened; that in the morning they would eat breakfast as usual, with no mention of the scene only a few hours previous. Expected, but was that want Connor wanted?

Even Lester could hardly leave another man alone in the dark with his nightmares, least of all Connor. When it came to the younger man Lester had begun to feel a curl of protectiveness (and maybe something else, nameless) flaring in his gut, and he neither knew how nor if he wanted to clamp it down. Worst of all Lester was sure Connor wanted absolutely nothing to do with him in that sort of way and that he'd likely leave the flat once he found more suitable accommodations. Of course Lester was far too busy these days to devote any time to examining his feelings on _that_ matter.

He stood awkwardly at the bedside as Connor settled down again, on the far side of the mattress with his back now firmly to Lester. He pulled the duvet tightly over his shoulders.

"Can I get you a glass of water?" Lester tried.

"No thanks." And then a pause. "I'm sorry I woke you," Connor mumbled into his pillow.

Lester considered lying for a moment. Blaming it on the wind or some other noise, even an urgent need to relieve himself. "No trouble," he said.

The silence hung between them; a shadow that veiled from Lester any or all of Connor's wants or needs, and even Lester's own intentions.

He was at the doorway now, suspended on the threshold again, unsure.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, a little desperately, if you listened closely and knew him well. He felt useless, waking Connor from his dreams and then abandoning him to them again. How could he give comfort Connor didn't want?

He had a hand on the doorknob, half turned to leave in defeat as quietly as he had entered, when he heard Connor's quiet request to the dark.

"Could you stay a bit?"

Lester's heart raced and his mind whirred into furious action, but all he said was, "of course."

He left his slippers at the side of the bed and settled on top of the duvet next to Connor, sitting up against the headboard. He chose the side closer to the door, so Connor could keep his back to Lester if he wanted to maintain that distance.

Lester thought of his own childhood nightmares; of the snatching claws and endless dead-end passages that plagued his early youth. He remembered his mother, sitting at his bedside in the quiet of their home, as frightened as him.

He looked to Connor, on his side and lying still and obviously awake. Lester suspected Connor's nightmares were of a different ilk. That, and any grabbing, slashing claws that chased him could easily be from memory rather than mere imagination. Now was no time to worry if Connor would leave or stay, if the bizarre chaos of Lester's emotions meant anything or not. Here was simply a man kept awake by his own mind, and Lester had it in his ability to help.

For reasons unknown to him, Lester began to hum. It wasn't anything in particular; he was no musician. Just a few bars he repeated in a makeshift melody, keeping the notes low and soft.

After a few minutes Lester heard Connor's breathing even out, and he rolled unconsciously onto his back, shoulder bumping against Lester's hip. Lester slid a few more inches down the headboard, to a position more agreeable to his spine. He would stay for only a few minutes longer, until he was sure Connor was sleeping soundly. A few more minutes wouldn't hurt.

He woke the next morning, having slid down the headboard to lie comfortably on top of the duvet, to the distant sound of his alarm clock beeping from down the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Primeval characters and universe humbly borrowed for nefarious fannish purposes only.


End file.
